Page 76 of Sweet Like Whiskey

It doesn’t.

“Can I drive?” he asks with a bounce.

“No way,” I say, begrudgingly adding a, “Maybe,” as Ash’s eyes turn big and round.

He smiles victoriously.

Dangerous, this man.

When we get to the parking lot outside the milking barn, I head inside to grab a spare blanket while Ash waits with the raccoon. I cover the cage before loading it into the back of the utility vehicle, not wanting to stress the raccoon out more than necessary considering I’m now releasing the damn thing. Ash hops into the passenger seat, watching as I turn the ignition. I assume he’s taking notes for later.

With a small lurch, the vehicle sets into motion. I drive us toward one of the trail riding paths that’s widest. As we bump over dirt, I glance Ash’s way to find him smiling serenely, his hand on the doorframe.

“You do know we eat the cattle, right?” I ask.

His head whips my way. “What?”

“The cattle,” I repeat, talking over the low noise of the engine. “We raise cattle for beef. We can’t save all the animals.”

He nearly rolls his eyes. “I know that, Jack. But it’s different. The cattle provide sustenance. There’s no reason to off the poor raccoon.”

I beg to differ, but I keep my opinions to myself, having a feeling there’s no way I’d win this one. Not with those damn eyes of his armed and ready.

Clearing my throat, I let my gaze slide down Ash’s profile before refocusing on the trail. “You sore at all?”

I can feel his eyes boring into the side of my head. “I already told you I’m fine.”

“No, I—” A wave a hand his way.Downward. “Are yousore?”

I glance over, catching his slow spreading smile. “My ass is just fine, thank you. Very happy, in fact.”

I grunt, and Ash laughs.

“But if you want to check it over later…” he says.

He laughs harder when I inadvertently step on the gas.

I’m not sure what I’ve gotten into with Ashley Alcott. But for once, the road ahead looks pretty damn bright.

Chapter 19

Ash

Jackson pulls the utility vehicle to a stop near the base of the mountains. Personally, I think coming out this far is overkill, but what do I know about raccoons and their travel habits?

The raccoon blinks big, black eyes as Jackson pulls the blanket off its cage. It’s backed into the corner, and my chest aches for it.

“You stay here,” Jackson says, pulling on thick gloves before hefting the cage.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t want you in its path when I open the door,” he answers, already walking away.

I shake my head, unable to decide if his concern is sweet or plain ridiculous. Either way, I stay put, watching as Jackson heads a little further down the trail. He stops before long, aiming the cage toward the trees and standing at the furthest end from the door as he raises the latch. The raccoon doesn’t move,not until Jackson backs away. Then it skitters out through the narrow gap, disappearing into the woods with not so much as a backwards glance.

Jackson picks up the empty cage, heading my way. “Happy?” he calls out.

As I watch this man approach, his jeans dirty and the heavy stubble on his jaw reminding me of the roughness of Jackson’s kiss, I decide that, “Yeah. I’m very happy.”

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